


soliloquy

by arsgoetla



Series: one word [1]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mania, Mentions of Maxwell, Science Experiments, Trans Male Character, no plot. just a scientist going feral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27580501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arsgoetla/pseuds/arsgoetla
Summary: If a gentleman scientist is alone in an endless hell, does anyone hear his thoughts?
Series: one word [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962055
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	soliloquy

**Author's Note:**

> probably not my best work, but im just testing out the waters with ao3 and i decided to write about my favorite gentleman scientist.

Wilson didn't know when he first started talking to himself.

It was the little things at first. Yelling at statues of Maxwell (he hated that guy), cursing at failed science experiment or two, screaming out at a stubbed toe.  
But now, he found himself spewing out essays and scientific theorems and _talking_ to himself, damn it.

"I do believe I'm going mad," He sputtered out to Chester, absentmindedly petting the fuzzy, anthropomorphic chest. She woofed in response, leaning into the scientist's hand.  
"Hysteria, the doctors would've called it. Bah!" He opened up Chester, tossing more logs into the fire. She whined at the loss of head pats. Wilson didn't seem to notice, watching the fire dance into the cold night.

"But look at me now!" He waved his hands in the air triumphantly. "Almost all traces of being diagnosed with Hysteria gone!" He stroked his beard as if to prove a point. "No, they simply would've called me mad, and left it at that. It makes coming here almost worth it." Wilson stared at Chester. She stared back.

"Don't look at me like that! I said almost. _Almost!_ "

Wilson pulled back the spear lodged into the hound's throat, panting.

The more portals he traversed through, the tougher surviving was. Damned that Maxwell.  
Wilson sat down, running his fingers through his unkempt hair. Fixing his camp was in order, but for now, all he wanted to do was lay in the snow and scream.  
To make matters worse, Chester had not come with him. When he had entered the portal, Her eyebone was gone from his hand. So now he was alone. Truly and honestly alone.

"Why must you take everything from me?" He questioned the sky. The sun blinked at him in response.  
"First you take me away from my home, then you take my fuzzy... chest... Chester, you take _Chester_ from me, and then you take my sanity?" Wilson shot up suddenly, waving his fists in and air and stomping around angrily.  
"Guess what, Maxwell? There's one thing you can't take from me! And that's my brain! My science! As long as I have that..." Wilson sat back into the snow, fists digging into the ground below. "...As long as I have my mind, I'm not truly lost. I'm never alone."

In hindsight (which, in Wilson's case, never proved useful), maybe being so close to a fighting Treeguard and Deerclops was _not_ a good idea. He just _had_ to get notes about their interaction and behaviors! And that could not be done from a safe distance!  
On the other hand, sitting in a pool of his own blood, leg twisted and crumpled beyond repair, hurt like hell. He stared at the crumpled, bloody notes in his hands.  
It would be worthless if he died here.

Grabbing a nearby living log, he forced himself up, hands trembling. One step made his vision spin, snow, and pine needles dancing into one. Wilson gritted his teeth, forcing himself forward. He had to make it back to camp. The Grue would soon approach and he...  
He did not want to be caught in it.

A wrong step sent the scientist slipping into the ground, busting his nose on his make-shift walking cane, snapping it in half. He watched his blood splatter all over the snow, staining it crimson. Attempting to force himself up brought nothing but pain, and with nothing to support himself with...  
"Well, I've really done it now," He chuckled to himself, watching the dusk fade into night.

He could only hope hypothermia took him before The Grue.

"Truce my _ass_!" Wilson grumbled, fumbling the metal... potato... thing in his hands. After everything Maxwell put him through, here he was, pleading for a _truce_?  
"Well, the joke's on you, _pal_! " Wilson spat out to the dark, miner hat illuminating his work. "You aren't getting off scot-free. I'll find you, and I'll... I'll..." Wilson finished his portal. He stood back, admiring his work.  
"And I'll go home," Wilson breathed, pulling the lever. It sprung to life, Maxwell's mechanical smile mocking him. Determined, Wilson leaped into the portal, feeling as if his journey would end soon.

Being launched into the dark was not what he expected, although, it certainly could've gone worse.

"You insolent, pitiful, insignificant ant!" A voice snarled, and Wilson whipped his head around to see Maxwell, looking worse for wear. Wilson gawked as the Nightmare King continued, gnashing his teeth. "Do not arouse the wrath of the great Maxwell! You will regret coming any further..." With that, Wilson was alone in the dark.

"Well," Wilson huffed, running a gloved hand through his hair, "Time to get to work."

When Wilson finally reached Maxwell, he expected a snarling beast, an angered demon. A final battle, perhaps.

He did not expect to see the sad, crumpled old man he did. He looked older than time itself, wrists and ankles bound by night to a hellish throne. Maxwell raised his head when he approached, eyes empty.

"Well... this is it." Maxwell waved his arms, motioning around the room. "You found me. Now, what are you going to do?"  
Wilson was at a loss for words. All this pain, all this suffering, he could've sworn Maxwell was the cause. Looking at him now, though...  
"Even a king is bound to the board."  
Maxwell's voice made something click inside Wilson's brain. He was no king. He was a set-piece, something that... Someone had used to taunt and torment.

Maxwell was just a pawn like he was.

"Keep us company. Stay for a while," Maxwell croaked, eyes looking just past Wilson. His mind was already made up, however.

He clicked the Divining Rod into place.


End file.
